Participants:
| Scene Title | A Father's Demand |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A face to face meeting leads to Ryans making a demand of the man trying to keep his daughter safe. |
| Date | January 27, 2011 |
Public Greenspace — Upper East Side
This area can hardly be called a greenspace at the moment. What grass there is is browned with winter, and in many places that bare grass has been pounded down into dirt, both wet and dry. But it's closer to a green-space than a park. A few benches for people to sit on, complete with advertising (Register Today!) with spray paint crossing out the word Register and making it read Sell Out in dull red letters. Everyone has an opinion, right?
It's this small area, where people walk their dogs to do their business, and various other things, that Kincaid asked to meet face to face. Some things aren't safe to discuss on the phone, as he's sure the older man understands.
Dressed in a long overcoat and a light brown hair that's pulled over the tops of his ears, and sunglasses, he looks like most men might in this cold weather, though through the darkened glasses, he looks down at the defiled bench, as if finding interest in it, while he waits for the man.
A lone figure in the cold steps on near silent feet, boots barely making a crunch on dead grass. The brown canvas duster he wears, would work better if he closed it, but instead it's left open, able to flare out behind him. The collar is turned up to protect his neck from the chill that can bite to the bone. Under it the clothing he wears would be more at home in a rural setting all plaid and jeans.
When you live your life in hiding you can't be choosy.
Observant blue eyes, are shaded by the old worn fedora on his head, but are cast to the ground on occasion so that he doesn't step on any surprises that lazy owners might leave. He's on time, maybe even a little early. Possibly he sat watching Kincaid's arrival from a safe distance.
Benjamin Ryans glances up finally to give Kincaid the full weight of his gaze. As always the old man is hard to read, emotions masked in stony neutrality. "How are they?"
No hello or how do you do. The concern that laces the old man's words says he has more important things to worry about then trivial greetings. "I saw…" He startes, but can't finish, brows tipping down low. After a moment he asks, "I saw the show and the news. How is Bradley holding up? And… and his sister?" Only a brief hesitation on labeling her so, since this man somehow knows.
"Well as can be expected, I guess," Kincaid says, removing his hands from the deep pockets of the coat and looking away from the bench that he's been contemplating. "However he seems, though, it's highly unlikely that his sister will be able to stay with him for a while. She's staying with some friends of mine, not connected to the studio, people I trust with my life to take care of her. But even that's only temporary. She needs somewhere more permenant, to help with her recovery."
There's a slow inhale, as if he's bracing himself for what he has to do here. The man has many years of experience (even more than meets the eye) and is taller and more heavily built. Not to mention, now that he's looking at him, Kincaid already looks as if his face had recently been used as a punching back. The cracked lip has been glued (thanks to a medical student) and so as the break in his eyebrow, but the wounds are still visible, and while the bruises have faded, as they are day old, they are still there.
"She's still recovering from the coma— she can't even really walk, and she needs somewhere warm and wheel chair accessable. And she's especially worried about the virus, so she doesn't want to be put in with a bunch of people. She's… not really strong enough physically to fight anything like that off right now."
"I didn't plan for her to stay with him anyhow." Ryans states a bit more sharply then he probably means too. It's an edge brought on by the sharp pang of worry. "Delia is wanted." If Kincaid didn't know, well now he does. "Her staying with him, in his home… it was dangerous for both.
"Last thing they needed was some snoop coming around for a story. He's a celebrity… who just got engaged… paparazzi will be all over it." Clearly Ben's a bit irritated by the situation and his tone states that clearly, Russo should know better. "Then he would have something worst to worry about then simply manifesting."
Hands ball into fists, as if he's expecting resistance, as he adds, "I want to see her." He's only met this young man once, with no reason to truly trust him yet. "I want to see with my own eyes that she's alright." For all the old man knows, this could be a trap.
"I'm afraid the place she's staying isn't mine to take you to," Kincaid says in slightly passive tones, but with a set of determination in his jawline. This is resistance, but it's not strong or head on. "But she is safe. I promised that I would take care of her, and I swear this is a promise I am going to keep. I know she's wanted, too. And I have friends have the same situations."
There's a pause. "And her getting captured is as much a danger to me as to others— she's been inside my mind, seen my dreams, and I've told her secrets that, if she revealed them to the wrong people, would put me in a cell right next to her."
There's a slow breath, and he keeps his back straight, showing he doesn't intend to back down. "But as soon as you have an alternative for her to stay, somewhere she'd be safe and able to recover, I will bring her to you immediately, I swear. She is your daughter, but at the same time she's my responsibility now too. Until I know you have somewhere for her, I can't risk the place she's currently seeking shelter." After a few seconds, he adds, lowering dark eyes in apology, "I am sorry, sir."
His jaw clenches, the muscles bulging a little, the only real hint that he's not liking this. Like a cobra strike, two large hands come out with an agile quickness, to grab handfuls of the other mans jacket and drag him close enough so that the softly growled words can be heard. "I don't care, who you are… or if you trust your friends." Blue eyes are bright with anger, the patriarch of the family has had enough.
Kincaid is getting up close with a very dangerous man.
"I've spent month being… told almost nothing — " the word snapped out angrily, the neutral mask crumbling away. " — and I am sick of it. Sick of not knowing a goddamn thing that's going on. I… want… to see… Delia." He makes sure each word is clear and precise, so that there is no mistaking what the man is demanding.
Up close like this, Kincaid can see a subtle tip of his brows upward and the brief flicker of agony in the old man's eyes. "I have to see her." The words catch in his throat, before he shoves the kid away, though much gentler then when he first grabbed him. Not even enough to send him falling down. "So you tell these friends of yours that I want to see her." Because he has no idea how long it will be to secure quarters for her.
Rough handling is something Kincaid is used to, from the bruises on his face, from the scars on his hand. From the way he braces himself when he's grabbed, relaxing and stiffing in certain areas so as to minimize the damage that could happen. He even stumbles back in a way to avoid hurting himself when he's shoved. Breathing through his teeth, he grimaces. "I'll try and arrange for you to see her, but in the meantime, you need to find a safe place where she can stay for a longer period of time. The sooner you do that, the sooner she will be placed into your care."
Reaching a hand into his coat, he grips something hidden inside. "Give me a day to arrange a meet up with her. It won't be where they're keeping her. And if she decides to go with you after you meet up, then she can go. We're not keeping her against her will, and we're not trying to hide her from you. I have family to protect in this too, … Mister Ryans."
There are few things in this man's life that will get him riled up and his children is one of them. "I'll see what I can do. Talk to some people." Ryans agrees, words still a soft deep rumble. Something dangerous, like a lion crouched watching it's prey waiting for it to move just wrong. "Not sure how long this will take. Don't exactly have the resources I once did."
Drawing in a deep breath, the old man works to calm his nerves which are drawn tight, then letting it out slowly. The mask falls over his features again, before eyes Kincaid again. "Do what you need to do. But should you screw over me and mine, or she gets hurt — " His finger stabs at the air between them, pointed in Kincaid's direction — " I will not hesitate to hunt you or your friends down." He doesn't feel the need to finish that threat as to what he'll do when he does find them…
Something in his eyes, an emptiness, a haunted shadow to them… a testimony of a man who had seen and been through too much. It's not a hollow threat, it was after all his job and he was good at it.
"If anything happened to her on my watch… I'd probably let you hunt me down," Kincaid says, voice stop as he rubs the area that the man's hands had been grabbing him gently. He can make pain go away, but sometimes pain needs to remain. Pain is a reminder. Of duty, and of the price of failure.
But he specifically sited himself, not his friends. He wants to be the one to take the punishment.
"I'll call you once I get it together so you can see her, and if you feel safer, I'll let you choose the location. Just make sure it's accessable by roads, and there's no checkpoints between… say here and there."
That should remove some worries about a trap, but… not all. Never all.
A part of Ryans is wishing, Huruma was there… she was good for knowing the emotions running below the surface. To know if there is deceit for sure. Maybe he's just wanting to look for a reason to distrust him, even though the old man's instincts are telling him that kid might not be lying, might be okay.
He doesn't want to trust til he sees his daughter.
Eyes narrow dangerously, focusing on Kincaid for a long drawn out moment. "Fine." Benjamin doesn't relax, but his voice seems to have lost some of the edge to it. A sign that the old man is calming down. "When you call, I'll have a place."
Fingers grip the edges of his jacket and gives them a tug, as if the act of roughing up Kincaid had messed it up. "I'll give you five days." It's a compromise. Maybe an apology for how Ben treated him, or… he knows that it will take the younger man longer.
His hand lifts to grip his fedora and dips his head a little, a sign of respect. "Unless there is something else, I think our business is concluded here, Mister August."
With hand pressed briefly against his chest, Kincaid closes his eyes with relief, that they're done, that he has five days, and that he's not getting dragged off somewhere. All good signs, really! And after the way some of his friends have been treated, it seems like a generous turn of events.
"It was nice to meet you again, Mister Ryans," he says with a hint of an odd bow, before he retreats back a few steps and turns, moving away down the street, toward where he parked his car.
Benjamin doesn't move right away. The old man stands there stoically watching Kincaid walk away, until he sees the kid get in the car and drive off. Only then does he finally move to leave, extracting a throw away cellphone from a pocket.
He has some calls to make, cause Benjamin Ryans is sure as hell not letting his daughter stay with strangers.